


Souls made of dream and idea, hope and fear

by elfhawk3



Series: Freedom Calling [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 05:48:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2954531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfhawk3/pseuds/elfhawk3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The herald is but one person, mortal and fallible, and the rapt attention on the march from Haven's wreckage troubles her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Souls made of dream and idea, hope and fear

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Chant of Light, _Threnodies 5:11_

Solas is the only one beside the fire when she seeks him out, sheepskin blanket bundled around her in a futile attempt to keep warm in the mountains. She’s not certain where it came from, had woken with it draped over her after collapsing in the snow trying to find the evacuees. It smells faintly of Felandaris, but she doesn't think it's the alchemist's.

“Can I ask you something?” she asks, sitting down.

“More questions? I’m surprised you haven’t run out.”

She pokes a stick into the fire, rearranging the logs, and pulls the blanket tighter. The Frostbacks come by their name naturally and the chill that set into her bones in the ice caves has yet to leave. “If you think the relationship too one-sided, hahren, we can do as I did in the clan. A story for a story. Ask and answer.”

“Do you think me so interested in stories of the Dalish?”

“If those are the only questions you think I can answer, Solas, you’re vastly underestimating me.”

“Perhaps I am.” He looks at the crackling fire. “There _was_ something I was curious about. Who is the woman who haunts your dreams?”

She drops the stick, looks up. “Haunts?”

“A voice from home echos forever, be safe, I love you,” Cole murmurs from the other side of Solas. She wonders when he got there. She hadn’t seen him approach. Had he already been there? “Why do they hold bowls?”

“That is going to take a lot of getting used to,” she says, hunching her shoulders inwards. The odd boy had warned them of the coming army, had given them a few more hours of preparation, but his way of saying the passing thoughts of people nearby was very disconcerting. She wonders if that thought was from her or from the nosy dreamwalker.

“He cannot help who he is,” Solas scolds and she wonders what he knows about the boy that he hasn't shared yet. “But now you have a question, answer and ask what is was you wanted to know. Or do not, and get some rest. We still have a long march ahead of us and you are still not recovered.”

“There’s plenty more people worse off than me on this march.” She’s not giving up the blanket though. Whoever had left it would have to find another. “It’s something Atisha and I say to each other, when she goes out scouting. We did most everything together, but Keeper doesn’t let the mages wander as far, so when she sends the scouts ahead wayfinding, we say our goodbyes in case anything goes wrong.”

“Romantic and practical at the same time,” he comments.

“Romantic?” She giggles at the idea. “Perhaps. But she’s my twin.”

He chuckles. His smile is mocking, but his eyes are warm. “Freedom and peace? Truly?”

“You asked about her, not my parents. I get a question before I have to tell you that story.” She sticks her tongue out at him.

“Out with it, then. That promises to be a far more interesting story than I expected to hear tonight.”

She hums noncommittally. “Not if you think about it. Who do you think it was they saw in the rift with me?”

“A more difficult question than mine, herald. And one that has no right answer. Most likely it was a spirit, though which I could not say. But the Chantry teaches that everything in the Fade is a demon, so the soldiers explain it through the lens of their beliefs and say what they saw had to be Andraste. If you never recover your memory, we will never know for certain.”

“And even if I do, we still might not. Who’s to say what my beliefs will shape her as?”

“A valid point.”

She draws her knees up and rests her chin on them. She misses having Atisha to curl into on quiet nights like this, then remembers the large hand softly gripping hers as Atisha did when one of them got too overwhelmed and needed grounding. “Hey, Cole,” she says, trying to get the boy’s attention. He is watching where the healer has set up the wounded. His hat tilts, and she thinks he’s looking her way. “Thank you, for earlier. During the singing.”

“All eyes on me. She asks too much of me. They _need_ too much of me. There are no gods Beyond to save us, you fear magic and magic saved me and will you still sing so when you know? A hand clasping mine, reminding me I’m not alone, quieting the panic.” The hat tilts further and she can see his eyes now, he looks pleased. “You’re so bright. I wasn’t certain that helped. Good.”

“Magic saved you? Then you do remember something of the being in the Fade.”

“No,” she replies, looking down at the mark. “But I’m not some superstitious villager to think a dead woman or her silent god saved me when magic is the more likely answer. I don’t know who was with me when I stepped out of that rift, but it certainly wasn’t Andraste. Perhaps it wasn’t a spirit either. Who is to say I was the only person who passed Beyond at the Conclave?”

“Highly unlikely," he disagrees. "They need that belief that Andraste saved you, though. Things are- easier when you think a god looking out for you.” His mouth curls in private amusement, though she wouldn’t call it a smile. “Wise of you not to argue too much about it.”

“Just tired of repeating myself.” She shrugs. “Their belief doesn’t hurt me.”

“Yes it does,” Cole disagrees and she wonders what he is, to read people so easily.

Solas chuckles at her grimace. “They see a symbol, not a person. It is difficult, no?”

“I’ll have to get used to it.” She stands. “I should get some rest. No doubt Josephine and I will have to keep Cullen and Leliana from pulling each other’s hair tomorrow. Again.”

“It does look a little like herding wet angry cats,” Solas says. “Sleep well, herald.”

She pulls the sheepskin tight around her, the crisp smell of Felandris surrounding her. Behind her, she can hear Cole ask, “Herald of what?”

Herald of what, indeed. Another question with too many answers, none of them right.

She doesn't hear his answer.


End file.
